


Cry Baby

by monstrousfeminine (nickelodeonguts)



Series: Cry Baby’s Storytime Corner [1]
Category: Cry Baby - Melanie Martinez (Album)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Coming of Age, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drama, Eating Disorders, Horror, Incest, Kidnapping, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retelling, Suicide Attempt, Surreal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelodeonguts/pseuds/monstrousfeminine
Summary: Sweetest girl she gave to meHer heart was made of cotton candyBut beneath a texture so sweetLies the heart of a cry baby





	1. Cry Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Saddest girl she has to be_   
>  _Salty tears stream down her cheeks_   
>  _Her heart’s bigger than her body_   
>  _Her name is Cry Baby_

**I**

A mother sat at the table with her young son. She had gone too long without smoking a cigarette, and her son magnanimously offered to light it for her. She rested a hand on her tumid stomach, patting it as though it were a weak apology for her unborn baby. Meanwhile, her son swam in the silver wisps of her drag, fixating on them like a kid who’s gone cloud-watching. They would kiss his ears, tickle his nose, and make his eyes water; then _whoosh_ , the mother swatted the smoke away, and he was no longer submerged.

A father entered the picture, seldom lingering for long. “Jesus Christ, put that out! Do you want to hurt the baby?”

The mother tossed it into the glass of water she never drank. She looked up, unchanged. “I went so long without smoking one. I felt like I had to.”

“Well, you don’t,” the father said matter-of-factly. “It’s only a matter of time before our little angel comes into the world, so let’s be considerate of that.”

The father took her personalized ashtray, routinely pecked her cheek, and set the surprise box of glazed doughnuts on the counter as he rinsed out the glass. The young boy ran to his father and hugged his legs; the man unenthusiastically patted his son’s head. The father told him to wash his hands before getting anything from the box, and that was all he talked about with his son.

“Rough day?” the mother asked while frequently rubbing her stomach.

“Well, it _was_ a day,” the father said, only partly feigning his exhaustion. “It’s no easy task to push the second generation of antipsychotics onto staunch First Gen doctors, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I see.”

“It doesn’t matter _how_ many stories I tell them of the patients’ prognosis. They don’t want to believe it! They only want evidence of its failure, and if that isn’t a sign of colossal arrogance, I don’t know what is.”

“Is that so?” The mother raised the other hand to her face and smelled her nicotine-stained nails. For all its acrylic, pastel pink coating, the scent lingered like a spot of blood, unable to be washed off.

The boy sat at the table, already coating his hands and face with chipped doughnut glaze. His ravenous hunger unnerved her. She wrapped an arm around her belly, feeling as though everything inside of her would fall to her feet. She felt tiny fingernails, matted hair, breathless gulps for air like a fish on dry land; the sensations overwhelmed her, and she rushed to the bathroom to vomit.

The boy sat there, mostly unconcerned. The father went to check on her but stopped right before the threshold to the hallway. He wasn’t sure if it was disgust or subconscious apathy that overpowered him, but something reached out to him, as if through echolocation, and warned him not to walk in on the sight of his wife hunched over the toilet bowl.

When his wife returned (her lipstick and mascara smudged because of her melting face), he embraced her sincerely. She could not adjust to his gesture, as she knew it had been so long since he held her like this. If it was her suffering that made him suddenly appear sympathetic, what could get him to care for her all year round?

He resigned from their tepid embrace. “Have you been having those nightmares still?”

“Yes—no—I mean,” she stammered. “It’s much more than that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

They tripped over their words and cut each other off at points, but finally, the mother managed to say, “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this baby.”

Her response left him just short of poleaxed. Then, he chuckled and touched her swollen stomach. “It’s a little too late for that, now, isn’t it?”

“I mean,” the mother said, waving her hands as though signing in an incomprehensible language. “My mother was _devastated_ when she found out she wouldn’t have a son. Granted, I’ve been blessed in these circumstances, so my worry may be excessive. But—a daughter? Is it really?”

The father felt the baby kick twice. He recalled the mother’s reaction to the ring test. She was adamant in her decision not to see a doctor, so they tied her engagement ring to a string and held it in front of her stomach. He remembered the dull surprise on her face as the ring twirled around in circles, coaxing the baby into kicking.

The boy intervened, talking through a mouthful of pastry. “Am I still gonna have a little sister?”

They looked at each other momentarily, and the boy ran to his mother. The mother cradled and crooned to the boy, reassuring him that she was all right and everything would be all right in their world.

“Our world,” the boy repeated, nuzzling his head against the globe which held his sister.

“Yes,” the father said, placing his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “ _Our_ world.”

The mother smiled and said nothing.

**II**

She lay in her bed beside her husband. The ceiling fan murmured as it spun in fast circles, cooling her sweaty skin. _I feel like a goddamn beached whale_ ; she exhaled the thought through her nose, and it floated above her head like cigarette smoke.

He slept tranquilly, his closed eyes fluttering now and then. The son slept on the living room sofa, nibbling on his thumb in his sleep. She lay amidst the serenity of the bedroom, and it felt so calming that she wondered if she was at her wake.

She felt her baby kick again.

It was moments like these where the nightmares lurked in the corner, leering at her and anticipating her to float adrift in her dreams. She’d rest on the clouds at first, drifting away from her existence with her husband and son, hovering above her body as though she could see herself; her daydream would end not with a thud, but rather the creaking sound of stretcher wheels rushing her to the delivery room.

_Delivery room…sounds like a place where you pop FedEx packages out from inside of you._ As ludicrous as it seemed, it brought her momentary comfort.

But the doctors, stark and sterile, disproved that image. They snapped their gloves and tugged at their white coats, the stethoscope drooping around their necks like a distant cousin of the necklace. They hid their rabbit heads behind medical masks; the primary doctor tapped at a gilded pocket watch, telling everyone (and by extension, the mother, too) to hurry up. They helped her down and injected her with an epidural. Numbness consumed her body whole, slithering down her spine before taking a bite. The fear of not knowing what was crawling out of her terrified her, and she screamed, pushing with all of her might against doctors’ orders. They were forced to hold her down and break her open, hitting her in the stomach with a piñata stick. A swift swing, _crack!_ , and candy poured from between her legs like an overturned trick-or-treat basket. She heard a baby’s squall, but no child was produced from her womb.

The baby kicked until she sat up and rose from the bed, the growth of her stomach peeking from underneath her pink nightgown. Her insomnia was her shield for the night. The nightmares subsided like the tide, but she still felt something wet creep in between her toes. She looked down, wondering if she was bleeding.

_Bleed, please. Have it shrink and say goodbye. I can’t do this._

She popped like a water balloon. She gasped and knew.

They rushed her to the hospital posthaste. The son propped himself onto his knees, looking at his mother from the backseat of the car. The father shushed him, told him to sit down, and no, they weren’t there yet.

“I wanna see my sister,” the boy whined.

“It’s not like she can just say peek-a-boo, son.”

“Why not?”

“Just sit down, please.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Sit,” the father seethed, “ _down_.”

The young boy complied, crossing his arms and sighing. All the way to the hospital, the mother hissed and grimaced, rubbing her stomach as though it were a crystal ball.

Her room was soft and unassuming with pale mauve walls meant to welcome the newborn. A classic black Kit-Cat Klock ticked on, cutely glancing from side to side. They let her stay in her pajamas, not having time to change her into a hospital gown. The epidural was administered before the contractions erupted within her body, but her aches and pains promoted her sounds of discomfort to grunting and moaning.

The father was dressed for the occasion: he met with the head doctor and manager to promote a pill that would be bigger than Zoloft. The anticipating big brother, dressed simply in overalls and a striped T-shirt, sat on a stool in the corner while watching his mother bring his little sister into the world.

When the primary doctor came in amidst the midwives, hiding behind his medical mask and donning a cap, a scream tore through the mother’s mouth. The midwives held her hands, and she pushed unwillingly, crying out from the dull spasms that ripped throughout her body. She cried out for her mother, and the only one who understood was a red-haired nurse who stood by the door.

The nurse peeked through the threshold. She saw a man, sharply dressed, flirt with a nurse who was pushing a tray full of paper pill cups. As they giggled, the nurse noticed a faint shade of red on his lips. The nurse tsked and shut the door behind her.

It was morning soon enough, a shy sunrise mixed with silver clouds and a baby blue sky. There was no candy, but the baby came into the world, crying and wiggling. _It’s a girl_ , the mother faintly heard; she could hardly hear anything over the heartbeat monitor. The placenta bled out of her like pus from a wound. The brother offered to cut the umbilical cord with his plastic scissors, but the doctor laughed and patted his head, telling them they need to use “big boy tools.”

There was a scale beside her bed, but she had no desire to assess the damage that was done. She beckoned her son over to her, cigarette in hand.

“Finally,” she said to herself, puffing almost immediately as he lit it.

The brother stood on his tip-toes, creaking against the floor. She went back to puffing from her cigarette like a content dragon.

“There’s no smoking in here,” the nurse said before leaving to retrieve the baby.

“Fine.” She petulantly handed the cigarette to her son. “Here, take it.”

The brother handled the lit cigarette like it was a sacred artifact. He pulled the stool from the corner, stood on top of it, and opened a window. He took a long drag and coughed viciously. Then, he took a few more before putting it out on the window pane and tossing it outside.

“Please get down from there,” said the nurse, who was holding the crying baby.

“My little sister!” The boy hopped down from the stool, much to the exasperation of the nurse. “What’s her name?”

“Well, that’s for your mommy to decide,” she said without condescension.

“Mommy’s tired,” the boy said. “And boring.”

The mother turned her head, regarded the confirmed pile of mass in the nurse’s arms, and turned away again. “She’s a cry baby.”

The baby, sensing this rejection, cried even louder, wailing for attention and food. The nurse looked down at the baby and sighed, briefly closing her eyes. She felt her bosom swell, and she asked the brother to pull the stool towards the wall facing the mother’s bed. After he did, she sat down and unbuttoned her dress. The baby latched onto her nipple, feeding and reaching her red, wrinkly hands up to the nurse’s chin.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” the smiling nurse said.

From her end existed three holy extensions of the baby: the father, who lost himself in the façade of omnipotence; the son, who smiled and swung his legs while sitting on the edge of the bed, and the mother, who remained a sickly prisoner of war within the hospital walls.

**III**

From inside her crib, Cry Baby huddled into her blanket. Her mobile dangled above her head, playing an eerie, mechanical tune. From the outside, toys squeaked and chimed, trying to climb into her space. A sock monkey snuck into her crib and knocked her blocks over; a wind-up frog hopped into her lap, trying to scare her. The ABC above her looked dusty and decrepit, as though they were about to fall onto her.

But the real anxiety came from the sound of footfalls from the hallway. Was it her mother, ready to spank her in a frenzied attempt to get her to hush? Was it her father, bringing home a strange woman and showing his daughter to her?

No, it was her brother, who climbed up on a plastic stool he brought and peeked into his sister’s crib. The toys were still, and the mobile’s tune was cheery as ever.

“Are you playing by yourself?” he asked.

Cry Baby only nodded, uncertain as to how he couldn’t see the hazardous environment around her.

“You’re too big for the crib,” the brother said, too young to be reproving. “Lemme help you out.”

She reached for him, and he set her down on the carpeted floor. He had grown in three years, nearing twelve but looking boyish as ever. His chestnut brown hair was neatly combed, and his bangs were evenly cut. He still wore lace-up shoes, but he didn’t wear knee socks like he used to. He wore T-shirts and shorts more often, and he got into so many things, his elbows and knees were almost always scraped and adorned with a Band-Aid.

“I have some toys that you might like,” the brother said.

Cry Baby tilted her head as he dug through the toy chest. The lid hit his head once, and he said a premature curse word, which made her giggle. He pulled out both a ball maze and a 6-in-1 activity cube. Cry Baby bounced in place excitedly. As he sat criss-cross in front of her, he pushed the ball towards her. The sound of a steel ball clicked against the plastic. Cry Baby clapped her hands and pushed the ball around her. Meanwhile, the brother turned his attention to the activity cube. He pushed beads up squiggly lines, he played tic-tac-toe with himself, and he slid several plastic shapes up, down and sideways in their set paths.

Amid their playtime, their mother walked down the hall. Cry Baby scooted closer to her brother, holding onto his arm. The brother patted her hand, inching in front of her as though he were guarding the princess against the dragon.

The mother stood in the doorway, daunted by her own inebriated state. She held a wine bottle in one hand and held herself steady with the other. “Feed your sister, please. I’m going out to see your father.”

She never went out with their father. It was always to go see him, most often to find him at a dive bar, touching the thigh of a wanton woman he just met. Both brother and sister watched their mother in disbelief.

“ _Move it_ ,” she demanded, spit flying from her drunken mouth.

The brother stood up and took Cry Baby by the hand. She shook her head, but he urged her into getting up. The hallway was long and winding, unlit as the light from the windows ignored their path. The mother left as soon as she came, spinning on her heels and stumbling her way out the door, miraculously maneuvering her way down the stairs.

Cry Baby’s brother got her set up in a grown-up’s chair instead of a high chair. She couldn’t fully reach the table, so he put two pillows on the seat for her to prop herself up. The brother rummaged through the fridge.

“What do you want, Cry Baby?”

“Cookie!”

“No,” the brother said. “That’s not a healthy snack. Mom said.”

Cry Baby stuck her tongue out.

The brother waved at her. “Relax. I’ll get you something sweet.”

“Yay!” Cry Baby clapped again.

The brother set out a small bowl of applesauce and offered to spoon-feed his sister. She turned her head twice; she opened her mouth once and then turned her head one more time before complying.

“You’re not making this easy, kid,” the brother said wryly.

He fed his sister several spoonfuls before getting up from the kitchen. He snuck through the kitchen drawers and found a hidden pack of cigarettes with a lighter generously tucked into the plastic wrap. He lit up and opened a window, the cig hanging from his lips like he was a shameless chanteuse. He kept the smoke from floating around his sister’s head, but she covered her mouth anyway, trying not to smell the curious stink of tobacco.

He looked at the cigarette, and his brain was alight with an idea. He rushed into the big bedroom, keeping it between his fingers. Cry Baby turned the spoon in her food, resting her chin in her hand. Then, her brother came into the living room, standing near the threshold. Cry Baby looked over and guffawed. The brother was wearing curlers on his head, a sleep mask on his forehead, and one of his mother’s silk robes. He held the cigarette between his fingers and simulated drinking with the other hand.

“Oh, pity me,” he said, parodying his mother’s voice and mannerisms. “I need another drink. That husband of mine is still not home because he’s out with a dirty slut!”

Cry Baby drummed her hands on the table. “Slut!”

“Oh, geez,” the brother said, going into the kitchen to put the cigarette out in the sink. “I hope you don’t start using _that_ word around Mom.”

Cry Baby took her plastic bowl and slammed it up and down, sloshing applesauce everywhere. “Slut, slut, slut!”

“Hey, stop it!” The brother scolded her as he took the bowl, rinsed it out, and got a wet cloth to clean up the puddles of food on the table. “You wanna get me in trouble with Mom and Dad?”

“No,” she said sadly.

After the brother finished cleaning the table, he wiped his sister’s mouth. Another idea lit up in his head. “I have a surprise for you. Can you close the window for me while I get it?”

Cry Baby pushed her chair to the window, stood up, and carefully closed the window. She hopped down (a bad trait inherited from her older sibling) and pulled her chair back in place. She put her hands in her lap, waiting as patiently as she could. Before she couldn’t stand it anymore, the brother came back from his bedroom, holding a giant teddy bear behind his back. She gaped, her face bright with wonder.

“Ta-da!” The brother showed off the bear as though he performed a magic act.

“Bear!” Cry Baby ran to the bear and almost tackled it, hugging it and twirling around happily.

“Mom and Dad gave it to me when I was little, too.” The brother noticed Cry Baby’s surprised reaction and laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I _was_ little at one point!”

Cry Baby smiled, closed her eyes, and nuzzled against the teddy bear’s face cheek-to-cheek. The brother sat down on the couch, and Cry Baby joined him, taking her new friend along with her. She hugged him, thanking him over and over.

When she pulled herself off of him, he said, “Mom and Dad told me to hang onto it whenever I need protection. I’m bigger now, so I don’t need it, but you do!”

He leaned in, beckoning Cry Baby to come closer. And she did.

“I can’t be there for you all the time,” he said. “I want you to have it with you whenever you feel like you need someone to lean on. Promise me you’ll take good care of it?”

“Promise triple!” Cry Baby crossed her beating heart three times, and she hugged her brother again.

**IV**

Cry Baby rode her bike to the playground, wincing every time she looked at the bruise on her arm. She attempted to cover it up with foundation and other makeup, but rummaging through her mother’s things resulted in a swift spanking before she left. She hated how the mottled spot of flesh looked, and her shame towards it was reminiscent of a young woman covering up a hickey.

She didn’t hate it as much as she hated her birthmark: the outline of her heart was visible in her chest. It beat loudly at times, and people turned to stare at her whenever they heard it. She had no control of it, so it beat on like a large drum.

Cry Baby parked her bike outside the fence, hung her backpack on the handles, and ran through the entrance. The school children populated different areas: some kids took turns on the slide, some played at the jungle gym, some talked on the swings, and one kid hid in the orange plastic tube. One boy, a blond-haired boy named David, beckoned the boy to come out and join his best friend, Beth Anne. The boy sat on the blanket with them, surrounded by stuffed animals and a plastic tea set.

Cry Baby ran to them, the girl’s face striking her as familiar. She sat beside Beth Anne, who exchanged looks with David and exhaled.

“Hey, guys!” Cry Baby said. “What are we doing?”

“Well,” Beth Anne said, “David and I were going to have tea.”

“Can I join?”

“Well,” David said. “We already have—”

“Yeah, sure,” Beth Anne said abruptly. David leaned in and whispered something to her, and Beth Anne responded defensively. Her voice was dim, but Cry Baby distinctly heard her say, _“You don’t want her to flip out, do you?”_

She turned to the boy sitting in front of her. He had a sweet face with dark brown hair and rosy cheeks.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Johnny.”

Beth Anne introduced Cry Baby for her. “Oh, this is my _friend_ Cry Baby.”

“Cry Baby?”

“Yeah, that’s what we call her,” Beth Anne said, eliciting a laugh from David.

Cry Baby didn’t say anything. She sat on her legs and looked around at the tea party. She was accompanied by Beth Anne, two boys she knew, and an uncomfortable amount of teddy bears.

“I’m David, by the way,” David said.

“Oh, I think I’ve talked to you before. I asked you for a pencil.”

David snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah! You accidentally stabbed my hand, and I cried.”

“Who’s the _real_ cry baby?” Cry Baby laughed, but the others didn’t.

“I still can’t get the lead out of my skin,” the blond-haired boy said, cringing slightly.

Beth Anne clapped once. “Anyway! Would you like some tea, Cry Baby?”

“Sure.” Cry Baby held her cup out.

Beth Anne poured the water from the teapot, but she missed and poured it into Cry Baby’s lap. It splashed onto her dress, puddling and dripping down her skirt.

“Oops,” Beth Anne said insincerely. “My bad.”

“That wasn’t funny!” Cry Baby got up, kicked all of the stuffed bears down, and ran off to the distant tree.

“She really _had_ to go,” David said.

Beth Anne snorted as she laughed. “She really _is_ a cry baby.”

Johnny dusted his knees and got up, shaking his head. “That wasn’t funny. And I’ll tell on you if you do it again.”

He ran away from the offended couple, making his way down the small knoll. He found Cry Baby curled into herself, hugging her knees and crying into the ruined skirt of her dress. He reached out to her, but she flinched away.

“It’s just some water,” Johnny said. “It’ll dry.”

“That’s not it!” Cry Baby looked up at him. “She’s always mean to me.”

“And she’s your friend?”

Cry Baby nodded.

“That doesn’t seem like a nice friend,” he said. “Why are you friends with her?”

“She said she was my friend, and I believe her.”

“Well,” Johnny said as he sat down beside her, “I don’t think she’s a good friend.”

Cry Baby looked at him, perplexed at his kindness towards her.

“I don’t like her that much,” he admitted. “Or David, for that matter. But I get it. He says he’s my friend, too.”

“And he’s mean to you?”

Johnny dipped his head once. “Yeah. He calls me a wimp and a girly boy.”

“What a dick.”

Johnny muffled his laughter with his hand. “That’s a bad word!”

“He’s a bad person,” she said in defense of herself. “He deserves it.”

“That’s true.”

The breeze dried Cry Baby’s face. As she wiped her eyes, Johnny noticed the bruise on her arm. “How’d you get that?”

“I fell down,” she said all too suddenly.

“Oh,” Johnny said, unassuming. “I fall down all the time.”

Cry Baby laughed weakly.

“I still can’t ride a bike,” he said, pointing at her bike. “You’re lucky.”

“It takes practice. Want me to teach you sometime?”

“I’d like that!”

Cry Baby smiled wide. “Me too.”

The bell rang, and everyone scattered.

“Shoot, it’s time to go home!” Johnny helped Cry Baby up, and they both ran up the hill, past Beth Anne and David, and through the winding pattern of kids leaving to get their stuff.

Cry Baby went to her bike. She retrieved her backpack with ease. As she did, Johnny got on his tricycle, which was parked by hers. He extended his hand in friendship. “It was nice to meet you!”

She shook his hand. “I liked meeting you, too.”

She got on her bike and began peddling, circling him. He jokingly pouted as she rode away, but before she could be out of earshot, he called her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder once and said before riding home, “Just call me Cry Baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I became a fan of Melanie Martinez in late 2015. Prior to that, I had heard of her through American Horror Story and seeing her Dollhouse MV play in the food court area on campus. I got merchandise related to her, I went to see her perform in 2016, and I plan on getting K-12 as a late birthday gift!
> 
> When I listened to her Cry Baby album, I felt like every song (including the “extra clutter” tracks) reflected something I had gone through in my personal life—childhood abuse/bullying, toxic interpersonal relationships, mental health problems, CSA/grooming, etc. Since 2016, I wanted to write my personal retelling of the Cry Baby story with a chapter dedicated to each song, including the four deluxe tracks.
> 
> This story is meant to be my way of showing gratitude for this woman’s content, as it’s gotten me through hard times and also inspired me to pull myself out of my writing slump.
> 
> I don’t know what my publishing schedule will be like, but I’m gonna try to update this as frequently as I can. I doubt I’ll be able to get it finished before K-12 is released, but that’s OK! It’s not a race!
> 
> I hope you enjoy what I’ve written, and I can’t wait to publish the next chapter!


	2. Dollhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And in her picture perfect home_   
>  _Momma’s drunk while Daddy moans_   
>  _Her brother always comes home stoned_   
>  _She watches in her room alone_

**I**

The neighborhood was lined with pastel-colored houses. There was rarely a deviation in the shrubbery, and the flowers grew and wilted at the appropriate time in everyone’s garden. As Cry Baby cycled home, she looked around. One girl played ball with herself before being called in to wash up for dinner. Another girl jumped rope in her driveway, as though waiting for a parent or sibling to return home when they never would. Cry Baby quaked with an unexpected shudder as she rode her bike down the small incline.

From a distance, she heard the faint chime of an ice cream truck. She peddled harder, keeping herself steady against the sidewalk where most kids walked off with ice cream cones.

“Have a nice day,” the ice cream man told one of the children, his voice flat.

Cry Baby stopped, put her bike in the driveway, and called out for him before he could drive off. “Wait, I’m here!”

The man gasped, resting his chin on his fists. “Well, hi there, my special ice girl! I was actually waiting for you!”

“You were?”

“Of course! This _is_ where you live, right?”

Cry Baby looked at the pastel pink house, looked back at the man, and nodded.

“I would _never_ drive off without saying hello to you first,” the man said.

“Do you have my special vanilla cone?” Cry Baby asked.

“Say no more!” The ice cream man presented Cry Baby with a vanilla ice cream cone with sprinkles.

Before Cry Baby could reach for it, a shadow swallowed her whole. It was her brother, no longer short, stubby, and sweet like he used to be. He was tall, lean, and his face was fixed in an intimidating manner.

“Hey, you,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “Couldn’t find you at school today.”

“That’s because I rode home,” she said, as though she rehearsed her response prior.

“I see.” Cry Baby’s brother presented her with a large, fresh-from-the-dryer teddy bear. “You left your bear at home today. I couldn’t let you go to school without it.”

“The teacher says I can’t bring it to school.”

The brother gripped her shoulder. “Well, I’ll just have to have a _talk_ with the teacher, won’t I?”

“Leave her alone, kid,” the ice cream man said. “She doesn’t need you babying her all the time.”

The brother scoffed at the man. “Well, she wouldn’t be called Cry Baby by her friends and family if I could not help her fulfill that role, would she?”

Cry Baby stood there and said nothing.

The brother took the ice cream cone and tossed it to the pavement for the ants. “We gotta go now.”

“Bye, Mr. Ice Cream Man!” Cry Baby said, waving as her brother led her by her bruised arm inside the house.

The ice cream man smiled and waved in response. Her brother jerked her around, and she stayed by his side like an obedient dog as he searched his pockets for the spare key. As she stood on the porch, swaying in place to a tune she hummed, she thought she could feel someone watching her. She was too accustomed to that feeling as her brother grew older and began casting shadows over her little body, so it wasn’t a feeling she could easily shake.

Everything was where it needed to be as Cry Baby and her brother entered their home. Their living room was considerably clean. There were no toys left on the stairs or in the threshold to the kitchen. The television was muted but cast the sleepyhead on the couch in a crackling glow. Their mother slept on the couch, snoring lightly. One of her legs drooped from her, making her position look uncomfortably lewd. An empty bottle tipped over and rolled to their feet, leaving a trail of white wine puddles. Just as they thought, nothing was out of place in their home.

“Shit,” the brother said to himself. “The old broad is asleep again.”

Cry Baby picked up the bottle and gave it to her brother.

“I’ll take this to the landfill,” he said, motioning upstairs. “Go on to bed. I’ll tuck you in when I get back.”

Cry Baby did not fret over her brother’s words. She knew he wasn’t going to the landfill, and she knew that meant he would be gone longer than normal. She began to go upstairs, but her brother whistled at her and held up her bear.

“Don’t forget your buddy,” the brother said in a tone that uneased her.

She went down a couple steps and took her bear without reaching the floor. His hands grazed hers as she took his gift back, and she rushed to her room immediately after, ignoring his lighthearted warning about running upstairs.

Her room grew unstintingly as she got older. The crib evolved into a large bed to herself, and a matching armoire and vanity chaperoned it. Her wardrobe overflowed with beautiful dresses, folded socks, and Mary Janes of various colors. She still had her toy chest, and she put away many of her dolls and stuffed animals. In the corner, she had her dolls and a dollhouse to play with.

She kept chocolate bars hidden in one of the vanity drawers. She grabbed a large one and went to work on it as she indulged in her private play. Momma and Daddy got the children ready for school. After they left, Daddy went to work and met another nice lady at lunch. At home, Momma drank wine until she fell asleep. The daughter came home and went to her room, also eating from her secret stash of candy. Her big brother came home, stumbling around and arguing with Momma. Daddy came home to his defense, and she was too distraught from the smell of the lady’s perfume on his collar to fight anymore. As they split for the evening, the big brother went upstairs and sat on his sister’s bed as she tried to sleep.

That was where she always stopped.

Halfway through the chocolate bar, she went back downstairs to get two Coke bottles to take to her room. Her mother, half-awake and sitting up, mumbled something about living off of chocolate and Cokes. She then drank from a new bottle of red wine. Cry Baby asked if it was her dinner.

“It tastes like spaghetti,” her mother said.

Cry Baby snapped the bottle caps off of her Cokes and carefully went back to her room.

By the time she finished her candy bar and got halfway through her soda, she heard the door slam once. Her mother shouted at a man for getting home so late and “smelling like shit,” which meant it was Cry Baby’s brother. He came back after an hour, so maybe he wasn’t holding that night. Either way, he still came home stoned.

“Quit yelling at me, Mom.”

“You’re just like your father. You’re always out late, and you come back looking like shit. I go out of my way to dress you, and you ruin every shirt I give you.”

Cry Baby hugged her teddy bear. He enveloped her in a soft, cuddly hug. The bear’s head dipped down, as though he were kissing her head. After all these years, her brother knew how to keep her teddy bear in good shape. No tuft of feathers or cotton bled from his tummy or sides. He never remained dirty for long, and whenever he was unveiled from the dryer, his hugs felt warm, and she felt like a cat laying in a ray of sun. But she was not pacified.

She returned to her Cokes by the time her father came home. She was surprised to look at her bedside table and see it was already 10:00 p.m. Her father still sounded happy and relaxed, so he wasn’t talking to his wife. The mother must have passed out or gone to bed if he could bring another woman home. They were suspiciously quiet for a while, but by the time Cry Baby finished her second Coke, the moaning began.

Cry Baby couldn’t sleep her way through the sounds the mysterious woman and her father made. She went to bed and spent her time punching the pillows. She briefly smothered herself with them, she beat them rhythmically, and she slapped the pillow against her face several times, groaning impatiently. Fifteen minutes never felt so long.

However, in the peaceful interlude before her brother’s intervention, Cry Baby tried her best not to go to sleep. She turned her lamp off and had her night light plugged in. Luminous stars hovered above her head, but they did not lull her to sleep. She turned to her side, clinging to her teddy bear. She snuggled her head into her bear’s soft belly, his soft tan fur tickling her cheek. Her resolve eroded as she lowered into sleep more and more, sinking from her conscious state of watchfulness.

Then, she felt her brother sit beside her on the bed. He smelled like a skunk. She rolled onto her back and kept her eyes closed, hoping that it would be over soon.

To him, she tasted like a chocolate soda.

**II**

Cry Baby took a bath by herself the next day. She splashed at the sewage that leaked from her core, trying to shoo it down the drain. She hated herself for allowing it to fester inside of her for too long. She felt like a wet paper bag that ripped from underneath; the contents didn’t spill out of her body, but she felt her guts drop to her knees as though they were low-hanging lights.

When she brushed her teeth, she noticed something queer in the bathroom mirror. Despite being too short to fully see her reflection, she saw a grown woman of her breed looking down at her. Cry Baby didn’t have to search in the reflection’s eyes to know it was hers, but she didn’t see her ballooned heart outlined within the woman’s chest. This body looked too big to be Cry Baby’s with too many complicated apparatuses—perky breasts, a thin waist, and a toned stomach—to keep track of.

When she looked down at herself, she still saw a little girl in carnation pink pajamas with an unbuttoned shirt and small spots of blood in between her pant legs. Her hair still remained a pair of bouncy, curly pigtails. Her freckles were tiny rhinestones on her cheeks, her chin was dimpled, and one of her teeth was missing.

She buttoned herself up, hiding her large heart from view. She hissed as she used the toilet. There was no salvaging the pajama bottoms in her mind, as her brother hid her underwear frequently; her mother probably wouldn’t notice if she threw them away. She wiped carefully and washed her hands after flushing, practically scrubbing the skin raw to match the rest of her.

She came downstairs to the sound of uncharacteristically cheery prattle. She peered into the kitchen and saw a woman with prim blonde curls and a pink dress with white polka dots sitting at the table with her mother. David sat in the chair furthest from the woman, utterly bored with their conversation.

The woman turned and feigned surprise upon seeing Cry Baby. “Oh! This must be your daughter, right?”

“That’s her,” the mother said, her grin unusually genuine.

“I’m David’s mother,” the woman confirmed. “Come on over! Don’t be shy!”

Cry Baby hugged her awkwardly, casting a sharp glare in David’s direction.

“Sweet little girl,” the woman said, unaware of how sick those words made Cry Baby feel. The woman ushered David to stand before Cry Baby. She stood behind him, assuming the role of a scolding parent with little effort. “Your brother said he saw my son treating you poorly on the playground yesterday, and I just want to say that I absolutely do _not_ condone that behavior.”

“I didn’t do anything!” David whined.

The mother smacked the back of his head. “Say you’re sorry. I never raised you to act that way.”

_Did you even raise him?_ was the question that arose in Cry Baby’s mind. If she didn’t know any better, she probably would’ve assumed the mother grew her son in a potted plant.

“I’m sorry,” David said.

“Good boy. Now, go play with your friend. Her mother and I will bring you snacks in a minute.”

It was an hour more of kibitzing about their husbands before Cry Baby’s mother brought them anything. She brought David a bowl of Mini ABCs and 123s (per his mother’s request) and Cry Baby a plate of cookies with an open bottle of Avery’s Totally Gross Soda.

“Kitty Piddle?” David asked, squinting at the sweaty label.

“It doesn’t _actually_ taste like that,” Cry Baby said. “It tastes like pineapple and oranges.”

“Ew. Sounds weird.”

“Well, it’s not yours. It’s mine.”

Cry Baby’s mother made the woman her favorite aperitif: cotton candy martinis. It looked as pink as the cotton balls she would dip and then consume in her spare time. Cry Baby and David ate in silence. Cry Baby munched on a couple of cookies before stopping to drink her soda, and David mainly ate the meatballs.

“I have an idea,” Cry Baby said, noticing how tired David looked. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Sure. What do you want to play?”

“How about the Bunnies board game?”

“Nah,” David said. “Not really in the mood.”

“Do you want to play dolls?”

“That’s for girls.”

Speaking of _for girls_ —“How about you show him the teddy bear I got for you?”

Cry Baby didn’t look at her brother, but David was petrified. Her brother’s gaze was so cold and gray, David thought that he would turn to stone from looking at him. All that was missing were cracked skin and a crown of long-toothed snakes on his head.

David’s mother heard this from the other room and came in with a blue stuffed bunny for Cry Baby.

“David won this for you at the carnival,” the woman said.

Cry Baby took the stuffed animal and hugged it. “You did?”

David nodded, looking elsewhere.

“The carnival is in town for a while,” David’s mother said. “We went there, and he decided to win a prize from the ball toss stand for you.”

“To say sorry, you know,” David said wanly.

Cry Baby leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I really like it.”

The brother chimed in. “Let me take it to your room, sis.”

Cry Baby’s joyful smile dulled. She knew it would look impolite to refuse in front of everyone, so she let him snatch the gift from her arms.

“He may be _difficult_ to deal with,” David’s mother said with peculiar emphasis. “But his heart is in the right place.”

“Boys and men are _always_ difficult to deal with,” Cry Baby’s mother said. “Just look at _my_ son and husband.”

“Oh, I see where you’re coming from. Aside from this little man, my big man ran off with some secretary of his. They live down the street in our gated community, as though they want to rub it in my face.”

“Oh.” A hue of green stained her mother’s eyes, spreading like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water. Even the husband’s mistress was a step up from the bar-hoppers her man held hands with.

As the conversation strayed to gardening and their debutante cotillion experiences, David ran out the door despite his mother’s protests.

“May I go see him, Momma?” Cry Baby asked.

Cry Baby’s mother looked at the woman and then at the leftover dishes of unfinished food. The only thing Cry Baby remained fixated on was her soda.

“Sure.” As Cry Baby got up to leave, she heard her mother over the clinking of dishes. “It’s not like I don’t already clean up after you all anyway.”

David sat on the porch, tossing rocks into the road. Cry Baby sat beside him and offered a sip of her soda. He complied out of curiosity.

“It tastes awful,” he said bluntly. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

Cry Baby continued drinking her soda.

“I hate when she does that,” David confided.

“When your mom does what?”

“ _That_.” David pointed behind him with his thumb. “Whenever she talks about my dad or how I’m difficult. She always does that.”

“I bet,” Cry Baby said, snickering a little.

“ _Always_.”

Cry Baby stopped laughing and instantly understood what he meant.

“She’s been like that since my dad left,” David said.

“When did he leave?”

“When I was a baby.”

Cry Baby looked down in her lap, no longer thirsty. She dumped the rest of her drink into the bushes and threw the glass into the road, watching it scatter into tiny, sharp pieces.

David gaped and then laughed. “You’re weird. I like that.”

“Thank you,” Cry Baby said.

They sat, waiting for something to say. As they did, Cry Baby thought she saw a melted vanilla ice cream cone on the pavement. Ants cluttered onto the melting hill like sprinkles, and she felt like she could hear them from where she sat. She blinked, and the image was gone; but when she looked at her hand and saw a black ant creep across her knuckles, she squealed and flung it off of her.

David flinched, covering his ears. “Why did you just scream?”

“I saw a bug on my hand,” Cry Baby said, ashamed of herself.

Instead of commenting on the childishness of her response, David looked around and conveyed a secret to her. “One time, when I was playing in the dirt, I sat on a red ant hill, and they crept into my pants.”

“Did you scream and cry?” Cry Baby asked, intrigued.

David blushed. “Moving on.”

Cry Baby giggled and jabbed him in the arm. He winced, and that made her laugh even more.

David frowned at her, but then he lightened up and asked her, “How do you play dollhouse?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean,” he asked, “how do you like to play with your dolls?”

“I thought you said it was for girls.”

“I said it not to worry my mom. She hates it when I play with girly stuff.”

“Was that the real reason why you wanted the stuffed bunny?”

“No!” David said. “I really did want you to have it.”

His honesty made Cry Baby feel safe. “I don’t have a bedtime because my mom is always sleeping after she drinks, and my dad doesn’t get home until real late. We sometimes eat, but I mainly eat snacks or cook for myself whenever we don’t eat together.”

“Dang.” David slid closer to her. “What about your brother?”

“He comes into my bed at night.”

David was disturbed but not wholly surprised by her answer.

“He doesn’t like it when boys talk to me,” she said. “He doesn’t even like it when the ice cream man gives me free ice cream.”

“He gives you free ice cream? Man, that’s weird.”

“He’s nice to me!”

“I’m sorry,” David said defensively, but then he softened. “Really, I’m sorry.”

Cry Baby didn’t say anything back.

“Do boys talk to you a lot?” David asked.

Cry Baby shook her head. “They don’t like me much anyway, but they _really_ don’t like my brother.”

“I like you.”

Cry Baby gauged his words, uncertain as to whether she should hug and kiss him or cry.

David got up and dusted off his shorts. He then reached out his hand, and Cry Baby took it graciously.

“My mom is going to a gala next Monday,” David said. “It’s basically a big gathering where you get a bunch of food, and people play music. Do you want to go with me?”

“Yeah! I’d love to.”

The door opened, and the mothers kissed each other goodbye, tipsy and no less competitive in grand gestures.

“David, say goodbye.” David’s mother tugged him away as he waved goodbye. Cry Baby waved back excitedly.

“What are you so giddy about?” her mother asked.

“Oh my God, Momma, David invited me to his mother’s gala next week! Can I go? Please? I’ll be a good girl, and I won’t eat too much like the last party we went to.”

“No,” her mother talked over her. “No, no, no. You’re not going.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said. And besides, men will never really love you. Men don’t love anyone but themselves. They’ll sail the ocean blue because they’d rather be anywhere than with you.”

Cry Baby stomped her foot. “That’s not fair!”

Her mother stomped her foot, too, crudely mimicking her daughter. “Well, I never said life was fucking fair. Go to your room, and don’t come down here until we leave for our family portrait tonight.”

Cry Baby huffed and ran past her, nudging her out of the way. As the father pulled into the driveway, the mother turned to him and yelled, “I _dare_ you to disagree with her. I clean up after all of you, and _this_ is the thanks I get?”

Cry Baby stopped in the middle of the winding hallway, catching her breath. Her parents argued downstairs, the father making it clear he supports her decision to go see this boy. It almost made her cry more than her mother’s cruel words, as she never saw him in the daylight or nighttime, yet he seemed so nice and undeserving of her mother’s physical and verbal lashings.

Cry Baby went into her room, and the sight she discovered almost made her go asystolic. 

She found the head of her stuffed bunny on her vanity with its body stabbed into the wall.

**III**

She still came down when her mother called her, and she genuinely loved the baby pink dress she gave to her. Her mother brushed her hair and gave her a fluffy bow that matched her outfit. The only lipstick her mother would allow her was a shade of cherry pink, just short of apple blossom white. The bruise had faded enough to where her mother successfully slathered and pampered it with foundation.

“I’m sorry I yelled earlier,” Cry Baby said.

Her mother primmed her expression as she applied the concealer. “Well, don’t be sorry. Be smart next time. I simply don’t want you to end up the way I did with your father.”

Cry Baby’s father came in just as she said that. “C’mon, family, we have to go.”

“Where’s your doting son?” the mother asked. “Still out selling your pills for you?”

“I’ll get him in the family business one day,” the father muttered. “C’mon, son, we have a family portrait to go to!”

The son wore a white button-down shirt and pants with suspenders. He would not have felt more or less ridiculous if his parents forcibly dressed him up as Howdy Doody.

“He still smells like shit,” the mother whispered. “My perfume is in the back bedroom. Go spray yourself, and maybe you’ll look more presentable.”

“I don’t want to wear that frilly, girly shit.”

“Well, too bad,” the father upbraided. “I might be more forgiving of your addiction than your mother, but I will not air out your dirty laundry— _literally_ —for a photographer we’ve never met.”

The mother finished preparing her daughter and hastily masked the boy’s harsh odor with her perfume.

The drive to the studio was unceremonious. The husband and wife did not talk to each other, and Cry Baby refused to look at her brother the whole way there. He noticed her bruise was covered up and kissed her arm. Her mother peered at them through the rear-view mirror, but she did nothing. The wait in the main room was no more exciting. The mother fidgeted, tapping her fingers on her knees. Cry Baby wondered if her flask was what a baby bottle is to starving infants (except babies don’t sweat like people during summer in the 1920s).

Her father led them into the studio, where a lady greeted them and shook his hand. The lady was confused by his wife’s bitter look, so she turned her attention to the two children they brought with them. Cry Baby smiled and said hello while her brother regarded the woman as though she were a museum exhibit he found uninteresting. She found the young man to be quite attractive despite his little interest in her, but she was further baffled by his seemingly possessive grip of Cry Baby’s arm.

The mother cooed and fussed at her husband as she readjusted his tie. He kissed her thankfully and sat down on the couch in front of the picture. Cry Baby’s mother asked her to sit by her brother and to quit scooting away from him. She sat as close as the picture required, and in between takes, she felt him touch her leg. They smiled in unison, and there was a unanimous sigh of relief after each photo was taken.

The father was the first to leave after the photo shoot. The mother went to find the nearest bathroom, overwhelmed with nausea and woe. The brother kept touching her leg and reached underneath the halo of her dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone’s wondering why I decided to give the brother a more significant, abusive role in Cry Baby’s story, it was because I felt like he was just…kind of there in Dollhouse? I mean, both parents are neglectful, the mother is a lush, and the father is an adulterer who brings his affairs home. I wanted Cry Baby to have one initially positive and protective role model in her life slowly turn sour over time. I also thought it would not only fit in with the “teddy bear” theme from Teddy Bear, but it would predetermine her romantic relationships (as the father’s infidelities do).
> 
> Also, while I plan on touching on this in later chapters, since this is a surreal/fantastical world Cry Baby lives in, she isn’t 100% a child or adult. I always interpreted the Cry Baby album as a coming-of-age story, which generally applies to teenagers. Plus, all of the characters in Cry Baby are either children or adults, so I wanted to portray what adolescence and the transitional period between childhood and adulthood looks like in this universe. I’ll go into more detail about it when later chapters require it.
> 
> Anyway, a day on campus to get away from the house (and crappy wifi) really paid off! I hope this is the start of a really productive streak!
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed reading this! I plan on working on the next chapter within the next few days. ♡


	3. Sippy Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She watches Momma sip a drink_   
>  _Out of a sippy cup that’s pink_   
>  _Because of that you’d never think_   
>  _That she’d pass out under the sink_

** I **

It was another quiet television night. The blue glow enveloped Cry Baby and her parents as they sat on the couch. Was it a democratic debate or a casually misogynistic sitcom? It was hard to tell. The father adjusted his collar, and when the mother turned to say something, she saw a hidden pair of lip prints on his neck. She turned her attention back to the television, instinctively unscrewing the cap from her flask and taking a robotic swig. Cry Baby didn’t have to look her way to know that she was silently crying.

Cry Baby’s brother came home with a loud bang. He ran past his family, and his odor permeated the air when he passed by. The father followed him up the stairs, and the mother sighed, resigning herself to the kitchen. Cry Baby sat by herself, finding the situation unremarkable.

Cry Baby leisurely approached the foot of the stairs. She made it almost halfway before noticing she left her blocks on the steps. _A perfect alibi_ , she thought. 

Further up the stairs, she heard her father speak in intervals like television static: “You know what—free, but then they—need more—you do that?”

Cry Baby picked up her toys and continued her trek. She caught a glimpse of her brother’s face. Whatever they discussed was of great importance, and he looked so excited to help his father. His father seemed proud, if only for a moment. They shook hands, and in those hands, they exchanged two pill bottles. The brother stuffed them into his pockets before Cry Baby made her way past them.

“I’m taking my toys back to my room,” she said, smiling as her father petted her head and shooed her away. She liked seeing her brother balk in her path. He couldn’t justify his presence to her, and he couldn’t react when another man touched her. It felt empowering to see him subdued, even if it was in the presence of their father.

She put her blocks into her toy chest. She looked at her bed, which was occupied by two roommates: her teddy bear, and the stuffed blue bunny David gave her. She used her mother’s thread and needle to sew the head back on, and she kept her brother’s knife in the drawer of her vanity. An angry impulse overcame her; she walked to her bed and snatched her teddy bear. It no longer looked appealing to her. It was large, overstuffed, and it loomed over her like a cloud rather than a welcoming friend.

Before the bear’s legs could droop into her trash bin, her brother practically punched the door while knocking.

“What?” Cry Baby snapped.

Her brother was uncomfortably quiet. “Come out here, please.”

Cry Baby opened the door, holding the bear with one hand. Her brother eyed her up and down but saw no sign of foul play.

Still, he asked, “Whatcha doing in here, Cry Baby?”

“Nothing,” she said convincingly.

He held his hand out. “I need the kitchen knife back. Mom’s getting suspicious.”

She pulled the knife from her vanity drawer and delicately handed it to him. He saw the head on her bunny was sewn back in place, and the sutures were hidden with a red bow. He pointed the knife in its direction.

“Tell you what,” her brother said. “Don’t tell Mom what you saw, and I’ll let you keep your _friend_ over there.”

Cry Baby nodded.

The brother tapped the knife against his chin for a minute, grinning and giggling wickedly at his sister. He then slipped the knife into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes with a lighter in its place.

“Smoke with me.” He did not ask her; he declared that she would.

Cry Baby hated going into her brother’s room. It often smelled dank and smoky, and the ceiling fan could not dissipate the foggy atmosphere. He had posters, a computer desk (without a computer), and a neat bedspread, but little more. He sat down and politely patted the spot next to him. She knew better but sat anyway. As predicted, he picked her up and sat her in his lap. He put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it for her, admiring the way her lips pursed around it and stained the filter.

Before he could wiggle against her, the mother stood in the threshold, heavily shadowed and only showing a flutter of inebriation.

“Don’t get her started!” she scolded. “I don’t want you infecting her with your nasty habits.”

“That _you_ taught me,” the brother chided.

Cry Baby coughed viciously after her first drag, and he patted her back repeatedly.

“There, see,” the mother said before taking another swig from her flask. “You get people strung out on shit like that, it’ll kill them before their next birthday.”

With that, she left them alone.

“Ignore her,” the brother said. “We don’t need to tell her about what goes on between us.”

Cry Baby took another puff and only moderately choked on the smoke.

“I promise you’ll adjust,” the brother said.

Cry Baby shuddered, remembering similar promises he made in that vein.

Her brother let her sit beside him as he retrieved a gift for her. It was a glass ashtray with intricate lining on the lip.

“For you to have whenever you smoke in your room,” the brother said.

Cry Baby took this as permission to leave him. “Thank you. I really love it.”

Her brother kissed her shoulder. “And I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Cry Baby said, and it was not entirely a lie.

** II **

The brother was gone before the father left his wife. He approached her with a box behind his back and presented it to her with an air of greatness in him.

“Pandora’s Box?” she asked.

“Open it.”

Inside, there was a beautiful ring. It was a golden band with several diamonds encrusted into the halo. Atop it was a rock that looked like a missing piece of the Hope Diamond.

“Oh my God!” the mother said, putting the ring on. “How could you have possibly afforded this, honey?”

The father pecked her cheek. “Well, you know how it is. Crunch time with other reps at the company. In fact, I’m heading out tonight to make sure a new shipment made it to the drugstore.”

“Oh, wow.” Her thoughts boiled in the blood circulating through her brain. _He really thinks I’m THAT fucking dumb._

“You haven’t been doing well lately, honey,” the father said truthfully.

“What do you mean?”

“The doctor says you’ve lost too much weight,” he reproached. “I wanted to get you a gift to cheer yourself up.”

“Thank you, dear.” _Quit making me feel bad for you. You just want to absolve yourself of whoring with other women while your wife suffers at home. You would be better off if I just wasted away to nothing. You’d probably fuck on my grave, for all you care._

They kissed each other civilly, and the father kissed his daughter’s head before making his way out the door. Cry Baby reached for the TV remote, but she retracted her arm and asked her mother something.

“What was that, dear?”

“Can I please go to my room to play?” Cry Baby asked.

“You mean—”

“ _May_ I please go to my room?”

“Yes,” the mother said, defeated in her attempt at family night. “You may.”

Cry Baby ignored her mother’s tearless sobs to go up to her room. Inside, she had a tea party set up with her bunny and her Rushton dolls. She had a silver tea seat, unlike Beth Anne’s stupid pink, plastic set. She didn’t have Disney princesses plastered onto her teapot; she had teddy bears and flowers imprinted into the material. She put pieces of chocolate onto the plates and pretended they were slices of cake. She kept her teddy bear in the corner of her room, making him a voyeur to her holding court amongst preferred friends.

“Would you like some more, Whinnie?” Cry Baby asked her blue stuffed bunny.

No response.

This unnerved her, and she poured the liquid from her teapot. It was remnants from her mother’s flask. She poured some into her cup and took a tentative sip.

She belched and ran into the bathroom to retch. The taste burned the back of her throat like acid reflux, and she almost wanted to cry from how uncomfortable she felt. Why would her mother drink this stuff if it tastes so bad?

She poured another lake into her cup, drank it, and she vomited again, only making it to the sink instead of the toilet bowl. Her eyes were watery, and her mouth was slathered in spit and chunks of sick. She hadn’t felt this bad since the one time she ate too many cookies before dinner.

As Cry Baby curled up against the bathtub and wiped her face with toilet paper, she thought about her mother. She witnessed her mother’s hangovers many times throughout her life. She’s seen her mother curse, shout, stumble, and heave into the toilet. She was so skinny, she wondered if she retained water, or if her body was made of pure alcohol.

Her mother knew how much damage it caused her frail body, but she went back to the bottle almost every night. Cry Baby thought about her mother’s relationship with her husband. She thought about the son she brought into the world and resented for his allegiance to his father. She remembered the many nights where her father brought home his mistresses, sometimes going as far as to do it in front of his children wherever he could get it. Imagine being married to a man who lays down with you, but he brings home woman after woman and doesn’t care if you or your children are there to bear witness to his misdirected ministrations.

She thought about her father, and his desire to be a part of any woman other than his wife. How unhappy did he have to be that his wife’s body was no longer a sanctuary? She thought about her brother, too, and how he lived in a cloud of his own. Whatever rekindling there could have been between him and his parents could never evolve beyond hot embers from a campfire. At that point, he turned to his sister and lived within her foliage as a summer home. He filled her body with summertime thunderstorms, and she convulsed as though she was struck by lightning. She couldn’t imagine being so unhappy that she had to fill someone else’s body with flash floods and leave their soul as foggy as a ghost town.

It all tied back to her mother. Her mother knew of her husband’s infidelities from the beginning; she also knew of her brother’s greedy indiscretions but did not respond with surprise. It was as though she knew the language of Man’s inherent impulses as far back as when she learned her ABCs. Ripping a Band-Aid off comes with covering up a cut; sex only feels good when you want someone to fill the void in your core, and in the case of her mother, wine and whiskey and vodka leaked from every pinprick her husband and son left in her skin.

_Maybe it only tastes good_ , Cry Baby thought, _when you feel bad._

Cry Baby was desperate for atonement; she went to her room and poured the rest of the teapot’s contents into her silver teacup. She carried it downstairs carefully, as though she was carrying a donation tray in between church pews. When she reached the end of her path, her mother’s cries were more audible. Her mother sat at the dining room table, her head resting against her palm and her tears dripping down her cheeks in black stains.

Cry Baby felt her chest tighten, the skin stretching and outlining her heart. She felt a rendition of Little Drummer Boy inside her ribcage. She never knew how to respond to her mother crying; she felt petrified, but she was drawn to the sound like a sailor to a siren’s song. She set the cup on the table, and the mother noticed her action.

“I did something bad,” Cry Baby said. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.”

The mother looked into the teacup and saw a familiar amber swim ripple as she pulled it closer to her.

“I poured it into my cup for you so that it would make you feel better,” Cry Baby said. “I don’t mind sharing.”

The mother then sobbed gracious, fairytale tears. She hugged her daughter close to her. Cry Baby tried not to pull away in disgust from her mother’s pungent breath.

“You’re such a good little girl,” the mother said. “I’ll let it slide this time. I won’t tell your father about this.”

“I won’t do it again, Momma. I promise.”

“Shush. It’s OK. This can be our little secret.”

Cry Baby’s mother guzzled the drink, and Cry Baby felt uneasy, knowing this came from a silver tea cup of hers. Despite her kind gesture, it doesn’t make it any less of a drink.

“I love you dearly,” the mother said.

“I love you, too, Momma.”

At that moment, both of them meant it.

** III **

Cry Baby sat on her bed and took a soothing drag of her brother’s weed. The paper had a confetti pattern, and the smoke billowed from her lips in lavish tendrils. She offered the joint to her dolls and stuffed animals, and then she snorted with laughter when they didn’t respond. The fan above circled atypically slow, and amid the popcorn-like texture of her ceiling, she thought she could see animals dancing above her.

She looked at the bear in the corner of her room. Part of her was tempted to put the drag out in his ear, but she was held down by a leaden torpor and could not get up from her bed. As she puffed more and more, her thoughts floated above her head like the silver stratus cloud that rose from her mouth. Eventually, the blunt became thin and burnt, and she put her it out in her ashtray. It remained a pinched strip of paper besides a small clutter of cigarette butts.

She lay in her bed, battling the inertia to maneuver her head onto her pillows. She curled into herself, feeling like a sleepy lion cub. The moon peeked through her window, and the curtains wafted around from the ventilation shaft. She briefly drifted to sleep, levitating from her body and towards the bank of moonlight.

However, the mingling high-beam headlights from down below brought her back to her room. It shone in her face, making her squint and rub her eyes. After the car parked in the driveway, her father came out, holding a blonde woman by her waist. She wore a party dress, a gold cardigan, and stiletto heels she tripped in. His hands trailed to her ass, and he led her to the front door, giggling and fumbling with the keys.

Cry Baby smothered her face into her pillow. She forced herself to fall asleep, grasping at the duvet and covering her head, feeling like a fetus in a blanket womb. Her world was made of ballerina pink fabric, but from downstairs, she could hear the woman nearing a precipice from the simplest of touches.

That was when her mother intervened.

From that point on, it was a flurry of insults and screaming. Back and forth, they traded blows over who was an unhealthy waif of their former self and who was a pathetic waste in desperate need for some dive bar whore. The woman interjected at times, attempting to defend herself by saying she didn’t know he was married. Cry Baby’s mother shot back comments about what a lying piece-of-shit slut she was. There was the harsh crack of a slap, then another, and the father shouted at them both.

It was quiet for a moment, and then there was moaning. It wasn’t just the woman; it included the mother’s harsh groans. Cry Baby wanted to scream into her pillow, hitting her head against the large pile and writhing underneath the covers. She only peeked her head out for air. Once she began breathing slowly, she fell asleep at last.

When she woke up, the pockmarked moon disappeared into the clouds. The sky was dark without its stars to light the way. Cry Baby sat up, agitated after coming down from her high. She looked at Whinnie, and then at her teddy bear. She screeched angrily, getting out of bed and taking her teddy bear into her brother’s room. She ripped its head off, punched its belly, and pulled the stuffing out in fat clumps. It was at that point that she decided to go to her room and pack her things.

Before she could leave his room, she heard her brother downstairs: _“Holy shit! What have you done?”_

She heard a series of gross squelches, which sounded like someone splashed through mud. Then, there was a thud.

Cry Baby ran to her room and shut the door behind her, inconsiderate of the noise she made. She hid underneath the covers and turned her back to the door, feigning sleep to the best of her ability. It was a fruitless attempt, as her mother opened the door and approached her, wearing a dress and cardigan that did not belong to her.

“Get up,” the mother said softly. “I have some melatonin to help you sleep.”

Cry Baby complied reluctantly. Her mother handed her the silver teacup, and inside of it was a dark brown pond. It did not taste like alcohol, which was relieving, but soon after taking it, Cry Baby instantaneously felt faint.

Her mother kissed her head and tucked her in. “I’ll see you soon.”

It would be hours before she would wake up in the hospital. Until then, she tittered and meandered back into her dreamland. It did not occur to her that she would never see her family again, or that she would have to attend a funeral in the coming weeks. When she woke up in her hospital bed, a doctor gleefully told her to go back to sleep, and she did just that. It was just a dream, she believed. She would wake up soon.

Soon, she would wake up and go home to the mother who almost killed her and the brother who spent his formative years roaming inside of her.

But that never happened.

**IV**

Cry Baby couldn’t bring herself to cry for her mother’s actions. A policeman calmly explained everything to her, and she absorbed it in her catatonic state.

“Your mother is going to jail for a long time,” he said, smiling at her. “You just rest for now. After a week, we’ll take you down to the station to answer some more questions.”

Her dreams were permeated with a dark jungle green. She dreamt that her mother chased her with the knife her brother used to hurt Whinnie. Her mother’s robe was disheveled, her breasts lurking from underneath the fabric. She smiled and laughed, her body doused in blood that looked like cough syrup. Her gait was clumsy, but she stumbled from delirium rather than drunkenness.

Just yesterday, her brother kissed her and said he loved her; her father did the same to his mother. It couldn’t have almost been a week by the time she started crying and having nightmares. _This is a bad dream because of the medicine I took_ , she thought, not yet ready to call it poison. She was certain she’d wake up soon.

The night before she was discharged, a red-headed nurse entered her room with a juice box and a balloon. “The candy striper down the hall asked that I deliver these to you.”

Cry Baby sat up and drank the carton of apple juice. The nurse tied the balloon to her bed.

“Do you remember me?”

Cry Baby shook her head.

The nurse sat beside her and caressed her arm. “I was there when you were born. You were such a beautiful baby. Look at you. You’re beautiful, even now.”

Cry Baby didn’t feel beautiful. She was too distracted to wash and rinse her hair in the shower thoroughly, and she had lost weight due to her refusal to eat anything. Her eyes were perpetually red and rheumy, which only added to the feeling of being a hospital patient.

“I fed you for your mother,” the nurse said, “and I enjoy doing it now, even in light of these terrible times.”

“I’m scared,” Cry Baby admitted.

“I promise it will be OK,” the nurse said. “All you have to do is sign some documents, and you won’t ever have to live with her again.”

When Cry Baby wept herself to sleep that night, it was not because of her family or what her mother did. She wept because it had been so long since she was treated with genuine kindness. She wanted to put the nurse’s heart in a jar and take it with her so that she knew it was beating for her.

When she was discharged, the nurse drove her to the police station. Two police officers, Officer Hump and Officer Dump, sat waiting for Cry Baby. The nurse ushered her in, gently cooing to her and cajoling her into taking a seat.

The policemen asked her questions about her home life. She talked about her father’s women, her mother’s drinking, and her brother’s drug dealing. She did not tell them about the teddy bear or the way her brother played with her.

“I was upstairs,” Cry Baby said. “I never saw any bodies.”

“Did you sense something was wrong?”

“I heard my brother yelling downstairs, and then I think that’s when Momma stabbed him.”

“You think so?”

“I didn’t see anything. I only heard weird sounds, and he was quiet after that.”

Officer Dump shuffled the coroner’s report in his partner’s direction. Officer Hump leafed through and took noticed of the time in which her brother was stabbed by his mother. He nodded once, satisfied from seeing her story line up.

“Alright,” Officer Hump said. “And you ran back to your room, you said?”

Cry Baby nodded.

“Yes means yes, young lady.”

“Yes.”

“When did your mother come in?”

“Not long after,” Cry Baby said. “I didn’t check the clock.”

The policeman nodded again, scribbling down something unsatisfactory in his notepad. “What did she look like?”

“She was wearing the woman’s clothes.”

Officer Dump pointed to the coroner’s report again, to which Officer Hump deferred his commentary.

“She gave me some medicine,” Cry Baby said. “It wasn’t alcohol, but it was a dark brown liquid.”

Officer Hump said something to himself and scribbled down more information.

“Did she say anything to you before you fell asleep?” the other policeman asked.

“She said she would see me soon.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Am I going to have to see Momma again?”

“No, no,” Officer Dump quavered. “We’re making it so that you don’t have to testify against her. I promise, you will never see her again.”

That’s when Cry Baby realized she was awake for good.

**V**

Within the following week, Cry Baby signed several documents given to her by the two officers. She wrote without using crayon and signed her name in cursive. Her house slowly dissolved from a crime scene to a regular home in her neighborhood. She knew it would not disappear from the neighbors’ minds; she felt like she would have to cross a finish line of yellow police tape before coming back home.

The nurse walked her back home, holding her hand the whole way there. When Cry Baby stood in front of her house, she held the spare key in her hand and looked at the nurse.

“I’m still scared,” Cry Baby said, ashamed of herself.

“Don’t be,” the nurse said gently. “You have people who love you and care about you.”

“Can’t I just stay in the hospital with you?”

The nurse laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not how the hospital works. But I do promise you that I will be in your life whenever you need me.”

“But what if I need you right now?”

The nurse knelt and hugged her. Cry Baby melted into the aroma of her perfume. She smelled sweet and nostalgic, and Cry Baby summoned the image of a glass baby bottle full of milk.

“I promise,” the nurse said, “you can and will get through this.”

Cry Baby didn’t want to let go, but she did unwillingly. She made it to the door by herself. She turned to wave at the nurse, trying her damnedest not to cry. The nurse blew her a kiss, and Cry Baby made her way into her home.

Walking into the living room, she felt like she was opening a present. There were dolls lined up on the couch and by the television. There was an assortment of delectable treats on the kitchen table. Beside them was a pink note written with a beautiful signature. Cry Baby treated herself to some much-needed milk and cookies out of the bunch.

Upstairs, the big bedroom became a second bedroom to rest in. There were new dresses and clothes that either hung in her armoire or were laid out on her parents’ former marital bed. The bed was large and overstuffed with toys and gifts alike, including a blue baby carriage and a record player. Her brother’s room was quarantined for the time being, but Cry Baby still had the bag of her brother’s weed and joint paper snug in her drawers underneath where her lighter and cigarette pack hid.

In her bed, she discovered the main gift from the generous nurse: a new teddy bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past couple days haven’t been the best for me. >.<
> 
> I’m dealing with some computer problems, which makes it hard to write. I’m still adjusting to some new medication, and I’ve felt kind of low lately. Today was a tough day (Mom had another medical appointment out of town), and my family is always so tired on days like these. However, I’m proud of myself for actually getting a chapter out the day before Melanie releases the fourth “assignment.”
> 
> The next chapter is where things really deviate from the Cry Baby storyline. I wanted to do a chapter for each song, and this includes the four deluxe tracks on her Extra Clutter EP. This is how I have it planned out: Teddy Bear occurs after Sippy Cup, Cake occurs after Pity Party, Gingerbread Man occurs after the Tag, You’re It/Milk and Cookies fiasco, and Play Date happens in between Pacify Her and Mrs. Potato Head.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’ll see you when I get around to the next one! Enjoy your assignment for the 16th! 🏫🎒🌈


	4. Teddy Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh but once upon a time_   
>  _They loved each other just fine_   
>  _How could love become a crime?_   
>  _“What happened, teddy bear of mine?”_

** I **

The sentencing was shorter than the service Cry Baby attended within the following week. The gavel came down like Thor’s hammer, and with that, her mother was sentenced to death. Cry Baby got a good look of her, unmoving in her shackles and sweating fat beads. They trailed down her face and dripped from her chin. Her skin was so sleek and damp, Cry Baby thought she would melt before the sentencing finished. It would make more sense than seeing her mother plead for her innocence inside a hot, cramped courtroom.

She felt herself sink as though she was in a grain pit. She watched her mother sob as the judge sentenced her to the table, and later that week, she watched three coffins travel to the center of the earth. People hugged her and offered a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. She even saw David’s mother there, placing her hands on his shoulders and rehearsing her saddest face.

Of all people, she saw Johnny, who still rode a tricycle.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted to her.

“Please don’t say anything,” Cry Baby said. “Everyone’s telling me how sorry they are for what I’ve gone through, but it makes it worse. It’s like ripping a Band-Aid off and putting it back in place.”

“I can see that.”

David walked up to Cry Baby and offered her a hug. She accepted it while Johnny watched both of them.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t come to the gala,” David said.

“That’s OK. I’m sorry my family died.”

David laughed as Johnny measured his response.

“My mom is hosting a party at her house this weekend though.” David leaned in. “You know what the difference between a gala and a house party is?”

“Hm?”

“Their kids are actually allowed in,” David said, snickering.

Cry Baby laughed, too, but she didn’t find it that funny.

“Will you come?”

Cry Baby melted nonetheless. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As David walked away, Johnny looked flummoxed. “What happened between you two?”

“He invited me to his mom’s parties.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants me there.”

“But _why?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Cry Baby said. “He said he was sorry for how he acted, and I believe him.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes, I do.” Cry Baby looked into the graves as she spoke. Men in suits slowly covered the caskets with dirt, and there was something startlingly palpable about the image.

“I don’t know if I trust him.”

“Well, I do. You can come if you want. I’d like to have you there, too.”

“Okay I will,” Johnny said contemptuously. “And I’ll bring Beth Anne with me. I’d like to have her there, too.”

“Fine.” Cry Baby turned on her heels to leave, and Johnny winced as she hopped onto her bike and rode off.

She biked down the incline like a streak. From a distance, the roofs of each house looked like pointed teeth. She traveled into the beast’s mouth that was her neighborhood. The duvet of clouds darkened the color of her surroundings, permeating everything with a touch of gray. She did not take a respite from her biking, not even to greet the ice cream man. She did not want to look into people’s eyes and discover their attempts at hiding their amusement.

Her house was still in shape when she arrived. She ate all of the goods that were left for her. The cookies were gone, as were the cupcakes. She ate all of the pizza and hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches. All that remained was the homemade lemonade, which was more water than lemons. She could still taste the unpleasant plash of alcohol in her mouth.

She went to the freezer to fill her glass, but as she pulled on the handle of the door, ice scattered everywhere. She immediately fell to her knees and sobbed, overwhelmed by what looked and sounded like broken glass on the floor. She picked them up in handfuls and dumped them into the sink; some of the pieces cut her, leaving red, welling marks on her fingers. She dumped the rest of the lemonade into the sink, and she cried even more afterward. She felt like a child who wiped away her drawings on a steamed mirror and wanted them back.

When she finally calmed down, she put Band-Aids on her hands. They were pastel and multicolored, and with how pale her skin was, she thought she looked like a page of a coloring book. Then, she heard a knock on the door.

Standing on the porch was a bleach blonde woman in a pink dress. She held a white paper bag in one hand and a frosted swirl lollipop in the other.

“Who are you?” Cry Baby asked.

“I’m a friend of your nurse,” the young woman said. “She said she had a prescription for you.”

Cry Baby took the bag thanklessly. She asked for a lick of the lollipop, and the young woman complied; she pulled it away when Cry Baby attempted another taste.

The young woman asked, “Do you go to Elmer’s Barn?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a small grocery store. We sell candy and old cereal like Jets and Crazy Cow. I’m the cashier there.”

“Oh, cool,” Cry Baby said. “I might have to go there soon.”

“You should,” the woman said. “I’d like to see you there sometime.”

“Why?”

“I know about you through your nurse. She talks about you quite a lot. Thinks highly of you, she does.”

“Really?”

“Fairy Godmother,” she said. “She looked after me when I was young, too. Mom was too drunk to give a rat’s ass about my existence.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Dad wasn’t in the picture much, either. He left us for another woman, and he started a new family.”

“Does every man do that?” Cry Baby asked glumly.

“Not all, but quite a lot.” The woman curtsied and smiled. “Well, it was nice to finally meet you. I hope you get through it.”

Cry Baby waved goodbye as the young woman left, lollipop in hand. Cry Baby closed the door and immediately went back to the kitchen. She ran the tap,filled a glass from the pile, took the prescribed amount, and downed it in one swallow. The ice in the sink melded into a small, dripping glacier.

She spent the next hour washing all of the dishes herself. The clouds scattered, but the robin’s egg tint of the sky slowly darkened. Before Cry Baby could realize it, a bright white puncture in the sky shone through the windows, and it was time for bed.

She watched television for an extra half hour. Staying up late brought no sense of pride for her, and she turned the TV off partway through an animated movie she lost interest in. She went upstairs to the bathroom. She took a hot bath, and then a cold one; she popped the suds and played with her bath toys. Once she dried herself off, she brushed her teeth and put the pill bottle into the medicine cabinet. She put it beside a golden container with the word _dollies’_ inscribed in cursive lettering.

As she got dressed, she looked at her brother’s room, which was locked and covered in yellow tape. She closed her eyes, scrunched up her face, and when she opened her eyes, her brother’s room was gone.

She went into her room to go to bed and kissed all of her dolls and stuffed animals goodnight. Before she could settle in for the night, she put her teddy bear into the wardrobe and closed the doors.

** II **

She left the door slightly ajar as she slept, unaware that it creaked open and let in a cool waft of air. Her counterpane billowed from an unseen apparition tucking her in, but it perturbed her as she woke abruptly. A baby blue pram rolled down the hall, coming from the master bedroom. Cry Baby heard a small cry from the pram, but it was as sharp as a dog’s whine. She approached it, but she stopped when she saw a shadowy figure take it by the handle. It was the corpse of the mistress her father brought home; she was only dressed in her undergarments, and the stab wounds on her abdomen were caked with scabs. She looked at Cry Baby, her eyes white and rolled back, and pushed the pram down the corridor.

Cry Baby started again, but the door slammed. The other side was a mirror which consumed the wall, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Cry Baby didn’t see a little girl or a short, young woman in the glass; she had no reflection, as though her mother killed that, too. Her heart beat rapidly, and her breath caught in her windpipe. She reached out and realized something: this was a passageway to the dark hallway.

She stepped forward, foot first, and the floorboards groaned beneath her. The walls were blue in the darkness, and with each step, she thought the sounds came from a monster lingering behind her. She ran past the same doors through several cycles until she found the stairs. Downstairs, a pallid light came from the living room. Cry Baby pursued it, and when she arrived at the foot of the stairs, the sight surprised her.

The black Kit-Cat Klock on the wall above the fireplace read 10:30 a.m. The room was illuminated by both the indoor lights and the sun peeking through the windows. Cry Baby saw a younger variation of herself play underneath her mother’s ironing board in the kitchen. Her brother pushed his toy dump truck towards her doll, and she babbled something at him. The mother unplugged her steam iron and set it on the edge of her board. She went to the fridge to search for a familiar bottle, but Cry Baby saw her younger self get up and walk towards her. _Baba_ , she heard her say, but as she ambled towards her mother, she caught herself on the flex and sent the iron toppling over. Her brother pushed her out of the way, but the shock of the situation made her cry.

The father rushed in and put up his wife’s ironing station. He then huffed and said to Cry Baby, “You need to be careful, littlest. That could’ve really hurt you.”

The mother turned back and reached for her daughter. The brother hugged her and refused to let her have Cry Baby, but the father unhooked him, and the mother hugged her wailing daughter.

“Oh, honey,” she said, bouncing and shushing her. “It’s all right now. Momma’s gonna be more careful next time, I promise. Go play with your brother. It’s all OK.”

Cry Baby did, and her brother kissed her wet cheeks until he pacified her. He gave her back her doll, and he even offered to give her friend a ride in his dump truck. She nodded, and he rushed into the living room, mimicking construction vehicle noises. She giggled and chased him, and Cry Baby in her current state did the same.

As she ran into the living room, the colors transformed. The walls were rouge with decorations. A silver Christmas tree stood aloft in the corner, shiny ornaments dangling from each branch. Cry Baby’s past iteration was slightly older, and her brother was much taller than her. They were playing by the tree, her brother making monkey gestures at her while she laughed. Her parents sat on the couch, and she noticed her mother’s stomach was round and pressed against her thighs. This was a surprise to her, as she never recalled her mother being pregnant at the time.

The mother looked up at the Kit-Cat Klock and snorted. “What a lovely gift from the hospital. I didn’t know I could take home more than one souvenir.”

“Guess not,” the father said before kissing her.

“Try not to get too wound up tonight, kids,” the mother warned blithely. “Otherwise, Santa won’t come if you’re asleep.”

Cry Baby of Christmas Past recognized this and fell into her brother’s lap, pretending to snore and mutter. He laughed, but Cry Baby watched apprehensively.

“Not what I meant, kiddo,” the mother said.

“Oh, let them play,” the father said. “They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

The mother focused on her son. “Can you take Cry Baby up to her room?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The brother led Cry Baby’s younger self by the hand and took her upstairs. A bawdy thought ( _“Play on the monkey bars.”_ ) rankled her, and she chased her brother. The parents huddled by the tree, adjusting some of the presents and whispering amongst themselves.

When Cry Baby got halfway up the stairs, something happened. The path elongated, and as it stretched out, she found herself barely past the foot of the stairs. She crawled and climbed her way up, but she always found herself at the first step.

She turned to the source of what was intense arguing. Her mother’s puffy stomach was gone, and she held a drink in her hand as she hit her husband with the other.

“I know you!” she cried out. “I know you’ve been out at night with _her_.”

“Which one?”

The mother hit him again. “Don’t fucking smart-mouth me. Why can’t you ever be transparent with me?”

“Why can’t _you_ ever take care of yourself?” _Tu quoque_. “You scream at me about being a terrible husband, but I come home, and you’re not only drinking and smoking, but you’re also cursing out our children over every little thing they do wrong.”

“They _must_ be screwing something up if they get it from you!”

The father deflected the mother’s blows, but she drubbed his arms all while holding her drink. Cry Baby turned and saw another older dissimilitude watching back at them. Her past self felt the disparate urge to scream, cry, throw a tantrum; but she only stood there.

The mother turned to Cry Baby, sobbing mercifully. “My baby. You know better, I know you do. I know you’ll one day know better than to get involved with other men like your father.”

“That’s enough!” the father shouted.

“I hope that one day,” the mother continued, “before you decide to lay down with another boy, you’ll think of me.”

The father pulled her back, and their altercation continued. Cry Baby saw her living reflection run to her brother at the top of the stairs; she ran at full pelt this time, making sure to catch up with them.

Her clone ran into his embrace, hiding from the ruckus going on downstairs. “They scare me so much.”

“I know,” her brother said.

“They make me want to pee.”

“Then, let me take you into the bathroom.”

“But you’ll watch.”

“Just to make sure you’re all right down there.”

With that, the brother took her into the bathroom. Cry Baby ran towards them, but the door slammed on its own. Then, she heard another conversation (“Give me back my bear.”—“I will if you come into my room.”); she couldn’t make it in time. Then, another (“Let me help you get dressed. I want to make sure you look good.”); she didn’t even try to stop the door closing. She fell to her knees, overcome with dyspnea. Her heart thumped like a rabbit’s foot against her skin. She held her ears as the doors open and shut repeatedly with neither her clone nor her brother in sight. A dam burst in her mind, and from that flooded the many times _no_ , _stop_ , _don’t_ couldn’t get past her lips.

Eventually, an elusive portal opened in the hallway. The table and houseplant that usually marked the end of her destination disappeared. She ventured forward, first running, then slowing down as her shortness of breath caught up with her. She did not run far, but she was about to collapse again as though she ran a ten-mile trek.

She stopped at another glass plate, but this time, it was a window. She was on the outside looking in on Christmas Day. The same color of rouge painted her face, and she looked in on the family opening presents. Her mother and father were still dressed in their pajamas, and her mother’s stomach swelled underneath her nightgown. Her brother shook one of his gifts excitedly. Her younger self sat in the middle of this, and her face showed nothing less of a fugue state. Everyone around her was so happy, talking to one another with nothing but pleasantry. But as Cry Baby looked at herself, she sensed an emptiness so profound, she could reach out and stick her hand through it.

Instead of snowing, she stood amid a blizzard of ice cubes.

** III **

Cry Baby woke up the morning after and had no recollection of last night’s dream.

She went to the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of cereal. She ate peacefully and put her dishes in the sink. She went to the master bedroom to play. She immediately took notice of the pram and pushed it around, mimicking her mother’s cooing and fussing. She brushed her dolls’ hair and made conversation with her stuffed animals. She watched TV and smoked a toke she previously wasn’t aware that she had. She went to Elmer’s Barn and purchased a chocolate cake for herself. She went home and ate it for lunch, along with some milk.

She didn’t question why she had two bedrooms, or why there was a blank section of the wall in the hallway. She didn’t wonder when her parents were coming home because she knew innately how busy they were. She didn’t consider for a moment she had a brother, but she was confused whenever she would have cramps and headaches out of nowhere.

Cry Baby went to the bathroom to take her prescription, but as she did, she heard someone’s heartbeat. It thrummed in tune with hers, and she sought out the source. She was shocked to find her teddy bear in her wardrobe, and she immediately hugged it to her chest. She clung to it and sat in her bed, rocking back and forth as though she were lulling it to sleep.

She wept, but she did not know the reason why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer to write because I really wanted to get this right. I always interpreted Teddy Bear as applying not only to Cry Baby’s romantic relationships, but also her family. In Cry Baby’s mind, there was a time where her parents loved her and each other, and there were good times between her and her brother. That makes the realization of abuse all the more heartbreaking on her part.
> 
> I promise this will be the end of triggering scenes involving CSA for now. I am not a survivor of incest, but I am a CSA survivor, so I wanted to write those scenes as tastefully as possible. I apologize if it’s triggering to anyone who has experienced similar abuse.
> 
> Btw, I wrote a poem for each of the four deluxe tracks to match Melanie’s poetry from the Cry Baby booklet.
> 
> Anyway, I’m super excited for K-12! I’m now going to listen to her snippets as I write the next chapter in Cry Baby’s journey: her romantic relationships.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’ll see you in the next one!


End file.
